a good place
by Denwa
Summary: 8018, edited version. yamamoto comes to terms with the death of his father.


_[click]_

I'll tell you a secret. I'm not actually human.

… Just kidding, that's not it.

I know all kinds of people with secrets, and they all have varying degrees of seriousness with their secrets. Ryohei-sempai, he's extremely (ahaha, you get that?) open with everything. He's not afraid to tell anyone anything, nuh-uh, not one bit, except he's not exactly a blabbermouth. But Reborn, he's the really picky secret-teller. He has selective preference! But I don't blame him. Sometimes we're all like that.

Some people, you take one look at them and think, "They don't have anything to hide at all, they're that pathetic," and sometimes it's true. And on the other half of the spectrum, you can go ahead and think that their mind is like a glass wall to the world but then, when their secrets are revealed to you, you get blown away! "Wow, so-and-so was actually this?" And, "Waaah, I didn't know, I really didn't know!" And, "Oh my God, really? Oh my God, _really_?"

I like these kinds of people. People who look like total thugs actually have a great green thumb. People who look like they're dancing when they're walking actually trip up the stairs. I like that kind of unpredictability. It also takes away a bit of your self-esteem, I think. You spend so much time with them that you end up thinking, "Why don't I have a hidden self like they do?"

You could change your face, maybe, to look a little less like the inner you and a little more like the outer you but that definitely sucks up your money like a vacuum! And, besides, does that even make sense? I guess not. So it's really not worth it in the end. I figure that you can't be pretentious at all. Don't try to do things you can't do. Just try to be yourself, except a better version of that. I don't really think you can go all over town drinking ten bottles of beer all at once and sauntering around like you own the place and picking up and hit on every lady you see because that violates a lot of moral codes and whatnot. I'm not good at these kinds of things, actually. Or maybe I am? But the point is that you can't, because a) that's setting a bad example to the younger residents and b) this place belongs to Hibari-san. He'll beat you up, I'm sure.

I get off-track a lot, don't I? I'm not good at telling stories.

But don't get me wrong, I've got secrets too! Of course, they're not very intense and heart-pounding ones, but little ones. Like that math quiz we took last week, I'll admit that I cheated on one question. One! It was on accident, actually, but it's still cheating, I know. I'm not good in English class. I'm always the one asking, "How do you pronounce this? Like this? Like this?" I tend to overdose on cough drops when I get sick. And… what else? I don't know off the top of my head.

See, small things like that! A year ago, maybe less than that, I was thinking about dropping out of school to focus more on baseball. I had everything ready, too! A goodbye letter, a bag packed with sushi, bottles of water, money, everything you could imagine I had there. Of course, it didn't work out like I thought it would. I couldn't swallow it down. The guilt, the regret—you understand, don't you? I can't just leave without telling anyone. Morally wrong. Like I said. I'm better than that.

Actually, I made that up just now.

I didn't feel a thing. I made my way to the train station and I bought a ticket. And I will try my best to make it feel like what it felt like back then.

"So," a voice said flatly behind me, "this is how Yamamoto Takeshi will end his life. Today. By my hands." I didn't even have to turn around to know that it was Hibari-san. It was obviously Hibari-san. Who else could it be besides Hibari-san?

"Sorry," I said, smiling. I turned to face him. He didn't look very pleased with me, just as usual, but he had a piece of paper in his hand. Maybe if I pretended that nothing was wrong with this picture then he'll go away. "But how did you know I was here? I haven't spoken to you for days! I didn't even tell Tsuna or Gokudera or Ryohei-senpai or even Reborn. You don't know me very well and I know even less about you."

He snorted and shoved the paper in my face. How unexpected, my grades! I don't remember what I did, maybe gapped, maybe blabbered about "How did you get this! Where did you get this!"

"Do not," he snapped, "infer anything about me. Your grades were slipping."

Of course. I laughed so hard I cried. He sighed impatiently and held a slender hand out. "Ticket," he demanded, and I gave it to him. "Pen," he said to the ticket booth lady, and she gave one to him (but I think it was out of sheer terror). He scribbled something I could barely read on the ticket (I made out "teacher," "excuse," my name and his) and threw it at me. "You are so stupid," he said. "I should've pushed you into the train tracks. You have ten minutes." I have never been more grateful or confused in my life.

… What happened after? That was that. It was not mentioned afterwards, not even once. Senpai can be so nice if he puts his mind into it. You might have to change your way of thinking sometimes, just to understand him twenty percent. I'm not saying that I can read him. It's a bit deeper than that. It's like putting your hand into water. Trying to grab a cloud. Clouds are made of condensed gases. Those tiny air and water and dust particles, that's what make up clouds. Why would you want to grab water even if you were thirsty? It falls through your fingers. You can't.

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You can, I have found out from the years that I have changed, never say things out loud from shounen manga. Never ever. Even if you have the itch, even if you say to yourself, "Ah, just one sentence will do," you can't because then you just end up embarrassing yourself. Who says those kinds of things in real life, anyways?

But you can say them in your head.

_[pause]_

When I was younger, my dad attempted to teach me how to do calligraphy and traditional painting. You're thinking, "It didn't work out, did it?" aren't you? That's what I thought. I think I was twelve back then. I wasn't much of an art person, but I'm not any artier than before. My dad's calloused hands on top of mine were so warm. It was the kind of warmth always lingers on you, whether you want it to or not. Hot days, cold days, humid days, dry days—no matter what kind of weather the day brings, if you think about it hard enough it'll appear.

My hands are warm right now. Haha! I remember. Because I wasn't listening, I was daydreaming and looking at the sun caught in the very edge of the window. And my dad kept on telling me, "No you're doing this wrong, you're holding this wrong, so-and-so is out of proportion, keep your grip the way it is, don't tighten it, are you telling me that this is a tree, this is not a tree, this is a dying chicken."

… I lied, I added in the dying chicken part. Now doesn't that sound like him? He's so… I don't know, I can't even put his personality into actual words. And even if I were to make up words that could fit him somehow, I don't even know how to put them onto paper. Or words. I wouldn't know how to spell them.

But… I think I can describe him in pictures. In colors.

It's one of those kinds of things, something that I was always teased for in the latter years of middle school. "Hey," they would say, "what are you doing, imagining again? Are you being Art Boy again?" And I would laugh and say, "Maybe, maybe not" and that was that. I'm not a loud person, but I'm not a soft-spoken one either. I'm just a normal guy.

My dad, he… told me that people were people. Actually, that's not what he told me, I don't know what he told me and I think I was a fool for forgetting because I think it sounded pretty important. During his life he told me lots of interesting and irrelevant things. "Don't say that you don't know because you do." And… "This sword style can push every other sword style out of the water!" And… "The sushi in America is made of fake crab." I had asked him, "Why don't they use real crab?" and he said, "Because real crab… I really don't know." But… that totally contradicts, doesn't it? Maybe I shouldn't have said them both right next to each other.

He's good. At dicing things. Have you seen him dice things? It's like du-du-du and then bam! _[crash, feedback]_ Uh, sorry… bam! And then you would get the prettiest slice of fish you've ever saw. It's true. You could ask anyone who eats here. And he also chops. In the background there's traditional music playing on the stereo, he goes ahead and chops with the rhythm. Very, very slow. I said, "Aren't you gonna chop faster?" and he said, "Takeshi, there's no need to rush." And I said, "Ahaha, alright."

Customers, taxes, the landlady… he did this job because he liked it. He even named the shop for me! Because it was completed on my birthday. And he said that he said to me, "Maybe you'll take over. I'll let you take my place if you like it enough." (Wait, did that even make any sense?)

Oh, I'm so off-topic. I like to ramble a lot. Whether it's about school or baseball or my dad, I always do. To me, he's like the sun. He's so warm. All the warmth lingered after he had gone but they were gone as soon as I turned my head. The windows had an orange glow. Very, very… I think ethereal is the word. I'm no good at adjectives. But it's like the sun setting. You just wanna keep it there for the rest of your life but you can't so you don't. But you can always try, I think. Take a butterfly net, take a tied-up blanket, try to smother it, try to shove it into a glass jar just so you can keep it for yourself and hope no one will ever notice your discomfort without it.

… A liquid gold! I've just thought of that. A liquid gold. It's not very original but that's the first thought that came to mind. On a sky canvas. Haha, it's beginning to sound romantic, but it's not supposed to, I don't think. For the blue, what's thin, what's blue. Swimming pool water? The canvas will start off blue. No water allowed! And then… orange, now, right? I think I'll take thinned orange juice. Pour it all over… no, not all over, just a little bit at the bottom. A lot, I mean. A lot.

Red? What about red? Red can be… tomato juice. This is sounding so healthy right now, haha. I'll paint it on the inside edges. The brush will sound like the pitter-patter of cat feet. What are they made out of, horsehair? Rabbit fur? I don't know. Isn't Tsuna an animal rights activist? I really don't know.

And then I'll pour the gold. It'll still be hot because it's melted, remember? I don't know if I'll burn my skin or not. I don't know if it'll stay or even work properly. I will pray. I haven't prayed in years. It'll sizzle like eggs on a hot pan. I imagine that it'll drizzle all over the paper and I will either get mad and swear or laugh and call Gokudera over the phone or cry and cry and cry.

_[long pause]_

A bird flew into the window! It wasn't yellow so it wasn't Hibird. Hibird calls me by my name. Takeshi, Takeshi. It's rather lovely. It's funny, too. Hibari-san gets so mad.

… I'm sorry, I lied again. I had to get tissues. To sneeze! And dab my eyes a bit. Haha… I don't know what's wrong with me. All of a sudden! I wasn't even talking about him but suddenly the tears just overflowed like rainwater in the gutters on a stormy night. They came rolling down my cheeks. I had so much to say, too, but I think I forgot it all. Wasn't the human body made out of 90 percent water? I think I just lost ten percent. I'm also going against my word. Didn't I sound like some hero from a shounen manga just now?

I'm not a hero, I don't think. I'm popular but then I'm not. I'm bad at writing. Letters, essays, assignments, stories. And when I try to draw even a stick figure it turns out like it's dying! I'm even worse at math and science. I think I'm okay with geography but not so much at history. I should, I think. When the teacher is busy with meetings, the Disciplinary Committee takes over! Hibari-san makes sure to pound it into our heads.

"This is important," he would deadpan, and we would all listen regardless of our own personal grudges against whatever he was teaching us at the moment.

And then if he caught Tsuna or me trying to catch at least five minutes of sleep he would make us stand outside the classroom. When he is merciful he'll throw whatever he can find first at our heads. Sometimes it's the chalk or the eraser or a textbook (which is four kilograms, by the way) or scissors (he's crazy!) or a water bottle or the stopwatch. If he feels really angry, he'll throw his tonfas at us. We get to stand outside the classroom anyways. It's so fun but I think Tsuna thinks otherwise.

"You think it's fun getting things thrown at your head everyday?" said Tsuna and I laughed at his incredulous face. I said that it was, that it was sort of like training with Reborn but just more physically painful. "Think of it as an obstacle!" I said. "Your head is getting stronger, isn't it?" Gokudera would've punched me in the stomach if he heard me saying that.

… If Hibari-san as the teacher could have a teacher's pet, it would be Gokudera. Or maybe it would be one of the people who pay the most attention in class, but Gokudera is really smart, even though he looks even more of a delinquent than Hibari-san does. He has a secret face. I think Gokudera could solve NASA-level problems. Hibari-san could throw a sample of dust at his face and snap, "What is this a sample of?" and I think he could answer and get the question right. It's not because I have extreme confidence in him or anything, it's just because that's the truth.

… I don't know what I'm trying to say anymore.

But I sold the sushi place. Right after my dad passed away, I sold the place. Because it's such a heavy burden to have to shoulder the pain, isn't it? I know that Tsuna and Gokudera and Ryohei-senpai and maybe even Reborn and Lambo and Chrome and Hibari-san in that quiet, distant way of his could take bits and pieces off for me but it's only so much. I wanted… our lives together to be filled with happiness. I knew what I was getting into, but I wish that it didn't have to affect the people around me.

People are people, I know. People are terrible things. "Not all of the people are bad." Tsuna would push me into this direction, he would try to lead the horse to water, but what could I do about it? Tsuna is so, so strong. Even if Hibari-san is the strongest Guardian and even if Gokudera is Tsuna's right-hand man, Tsuna is so, so strong. He's like… it sounds bad, but he's like weed. Even if you try to get rid of the weeds in the springtime, they always grow back! You can never bring him down.

It was all such a startling change. Suddenly the Tsuna I was so used to protecting started to protect me. "He's the Boss," Reborn said as-a-matter-of-factly, "so of course he has to be strong. He has to lead the family. If he can't do it then no one else can."

I rented an apartment of my own. Even if it was just for a little bit, I wanted to carry the load by myself. I didn't want anyone to fuss over me because that kind of thing happens quite often.

It was so strange. Suddenly I was free. I could do whatever I wanted to. If I felt like it, I could call in and say that I was still grieving or I had fallen ill or just skip school all together without telling anybody. I could play baseball in the afternoon or not wash the dishes or watch old movies all day or eat take-out at night or just tip-toe into my room and quietly cry myself to sleep. But I'm not weak like that. I went to school. I did my work. I tied myself down. I could still smile and joke and laugh. Just because someone that I loved, that I truly loved with all my heart, went away didn't have to mean that I had to change myself too. People are people. We stay the same. I'm not the main character of some shounen manga. I was strong. I would get through it by myself.

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I'm sorry. It's just really hard on me. I think I've just lost my ability to get angry at anything anymore. You're probably wondering, "What really happened?" because that didn't really sound like me, did it? Lies are such easy things to tell, and then you start to encase yourself in them. You just can't let go of the world you've created for yourself.

That's how I lived for a while.

The landlady was nice enough to let me stay for a little bit afterwards. "You don't have any other relatives, do you?" she had asked apologetically, but she knew the answer. I said, "Yeah…" like it wasn't a big deal. It wasn't a big deal. I was nineteen by then. I think I knew how to take care of myself. I know how to cook. I know how to clean. University could keep me busy. The family could keep me busy.

I always stayed near the kitchen. The warm, the cleanness, the crazy clutter of the pots and pans, they were home to me. On the floor were the occasional turnip peels that I had failed to catch when I was cooking my lunch or dinner. Sometimes, when the heat was getting to my head and I had to take off my sweater, I would bring in the trusty small little fan. It was originally white but had, over time, turned into a dirty grey. My dad could always stand the highest level (it went up to ten) but I had to keep the dial under four. I could delude myself into thinking, "Ah, life is wonderful!" On my cell phone I would call an older friend from university and I would convince them to buy alcohol for me. I cried over beer.

Because… I'm not strong. I don't know how to deal with emotions. Once they get out of hand, I let them get out of hand. I'm one of those "act first, think later" kind of person. On the children's channel I watched Doraemon. I wanted a dokodemo door. I wanted a lot of things.

On one of those lethargic days, Reborn knocked on my door, except I didn't know it was Reborn then. "Yamamoto Takeshi," he said to me in a firm tone of voice when he came into the living room and I had given him a glass of water, "you've got to snap out of it."

I wanted to cry. Reborn could tell. He didn't say anything but he sipped the water.

It was an orange kind of night, nearing the brink of summer. The first year was almost ending and I still didn't have any idea what I wanted to do. ("You don't have to go to college," the baby had said when we graduated, "but if you think you can handle both the weights of school and working for the family then go ahead. No one will stop you. Drop out if you feel tired. Go back if you have room.") The orange and grapefruit rinds were scattered on the plate I had put them on. The pillows on the sofa had all migrated to the right side! But that was because the TV was closer on the right than the left, and I was eating the citrus fruits while watching.

"You need to tell me what you want," he said, narrowing his eyes and setting the glass of water gently on the wooden table.

"I want my arms to stop feeling so awkward when they're hanging by my side," I replied, and it was somewhat true. I wished that I had shorter arms, they were too long. I also wished that my voice didn't sound as clogged up as it was. In reality, I was stalling. I don't know, I wanted to say, so stop asking me.

He was silent for a while; then, abruptly, he stood up and walked back to the door. I stepped back to let him through. He looked directly into my eyes as he leaned against the doorframe and what could I do except look right back? Reborn sighed slowly and said carefully, "Your family is getting worried for you."

"The reason I moved out is because I didn't want them to worry!" I exclaimed.

"Wrong." He hid a smile beneath the rim of his hat. "First of all, Yamamoto Takeshi, you haven't even moved out yet. Secondly, you've only made them jumpier. And I would've told you that you have four choices to choose from but the reason why I haven't yet is because I've already arranged for you to live with someone. It's just for a while, maybe a week or two, until you find a suitable apartment or house of your own. He'll whip you up into shape."

Reborn said this with a kind of decidedness that Tsuna used to abhor, I remember. I began to kind of avoid it myself. No one really liked them except maybe Gokudera, but that's because he had convinced himself that sucking up to Reborn was a synonym for sucking up to Tsuna.

And that's how I ended up bidding goodbye to the landlady and seeing, for the first time, Hibari-san's door. I thought that it was a good door, painted a shade of blue so dark that it was almost black. As I knocked three times on it, I could tell that it was made of a top quality piece of wood. Of course, this was because Hibari-san lived in the southern part of Namimori which was known for its expensive homes and stores. _[pause]_ Or maybe that was the eastern part. Anyways, that's not the point! The point is that I stood in front of Hibari-san's apartment waiting.

I half expected him to greet me with a tonfa to my face, but he was strangely civil to me. He opened it slowly with half-lidded eyes and bed-tossed hair. I could've laughed and hugged him in thanks but I chose not to, you never knew what could happen to you if you did that. It was anticlimactic, at the very most. He stepped the smallest of steps back. I took it as an invitation.

"Thanks," I said uneasily, a little embarrassed.

Hibari-san turned around and I followed quickly, closing the door behind me; it was already dark. "I'm only doing this for that baby," he said flatly without even looking at me. He motioned limply towards the sofa. "For now, sleep here. Figure out arrangements tomorrow. I'm tired; don't be loud."

He really is amazing. Like I said, it was an orange kind of night. Even Hibari-san could feel it. That orange feeling, it just really swallows you up. You want to hear jazz music and you don't really want to eat dinner or anything at all because you're just so tired. Looking at the computer screen makes you nauseous, when you want to read a book the words don't really settle in your head and you end up rereading everything ten times, doing homework makes you sleepy.

I had trouble sleeping the first night. My head filled with thoughts; most were about my dad and the others were about Hibari-san and Reborn and Tsuna and the rest of the family. Family. I thought about that word, too. My kind of family was not the same as Reborn's kind of family. To his family I had to give my strength and honor; to my family I had to give my love.

I remember, one time in one of Hibari-san's history lessons, he had talked about more ancient times when there was still warring between the provinces and emperors and where swordfights were more often held. Arranged marriages were normal; if you picked your domestic partner you were shunned and called strange. I had said, "But isn't that so unfair?" after I had raised my hand and ducked the flying piece of chalk aimed at my head.

"There's nothing unfair about it," he said evenly. "Provinces and, less often but still valid, the country itself got along much better if the marriage between important people was prearranged."

"But you wouldn't even know them," I had argued. "You wouldn't even love them."

"You're telling me that you would rather have this country be torn apart to have love in marriage than to have it stabilized with an arranged one." He narrowed his eyes and flung another piece of chalk at me. I ducked again. "Use your head. You don't need love. All you need is two people. Your heart is often wrong."

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Things happen fast like that. You don't necessarily know why or how. They just do.

I told you that I've got a secret to tell you, but maybe I don't, maybe I'm just toying with you. Who is "you"? I don't know, but doesn't it sound romantic? The "you" in a song, a poem, that "you" could mean me or Gokudera or that girl passing on the street or a lost cat. Truth is, the "you" that I've been saying all along is whoever that's listening. I don't mind if you listen. Some day, I'll be able to replay them over and over, in my head, in my music player, in my computer at an obscure time at night and laugh.

I'm horrible at telling stories. I always skip to the parts that I want to tell or I never focus much on something and give my full attention to something else. These little things, they sort of add up.

_[short pause]_

You know… I think you can hear the piano. Very, very softly, in the background. That's Gokudera playing—of course, because who else in our little circle that I know of can play? I wouldn't be surprised if Hibari-san or Chrome could play, but during my stay in Hibari-san's apartment, I didn't see a piano or even him listening to classical music. And Chrome, we don't talk much to each other. If she was a bit more open I think we would get along but whenever I approach her to look for a casual conversation she always smiles at me and doesn't talk much.

The song is "Clair de lune" by Debussy. It's pretty. I don't know much about music, and I even know less ways to describe it. Soft, relaxing, nice? Are those okay or no? They remind me of dreams and soft hair and a piece of dark blue paper with bright white flashes. Gokudera says that it means moonlight. I guess it's appropriate.

It doesn't fit him, this song. Explosive ones fit him more. Songs that are in fortissimo and in F flat minor and have gigantic scales that run up and down the piano. And chords! How could I forget the chords? Mm, you know what they should call him? Bangin' Chord Hayato. I think it sounds amazing. He would hit me if he knew, but I think I should try and convince Tsuna and change his nickname, but it's not even a nickname! It's longer than his real name, and a hassle to say, too.

… I don't know anymore! I've lost the words. They've escaped me.

… I'm sorry.

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Tell me what this is.

… Ah, I think you just hit the record button right then.

A voice recorder? Why do you have a voice recorder?

Haha… Hibari-san…

And also a reason why I shouldn't break this thing right here and now.

Wait! You wouldn't do that, would you?

Try me.

It… it… has… a lot of memories for me in there. I… record bits of my life in there! And… it's important, alright? It's important to me!

I'm going to smash this thing.

W-wait, senpai! I'll take you out to dinner!

You're broke.

I'll cook! I'll cook delicious things for you!

You always make the same things but in different cycles. You think I didn't notice?

Are these obstacles of love?

How do you dismantle this.

Hey, no, wait—

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The thing about grief is that you don't notice its presence until it hits you hard afterwards. It feels like a freight train but it comes to you at the oddest of moments.

It's because you're too busy to let it sink in. Where are the golden ribbons, where are the black kitchen scissors for cutting meat, where are the light blue thumbtacks, where is the remote control, where is this plastic wrap, where is your favorite pencil, where are those bottles of aloe vera juice you bought this morning? You don't want the grief to wash over you like you're sand particles in the ocean. You start to remember. You don't want to start to remember. You don't want the happy memories to come flooding in.

It's not… because you're weak, it's because even if you were the strongest person alive, you can't shoulder things like that all by yourself. It's like too much peppermint extract in your candy or too much lemon juice in your lemonade. What was once a good thing just became bad! Life and the order of things, they're so fragile, but you don't want to be like that. I think that's human nature.

I ended up staying over at Hibari-san's apartment for the whole summer. Something drew you into him, even though you knew that he hated you, that he hated people like you, that he hates everything and everything, you can't help it but you admire him. You always wanted to be gentle to him. You always wanted him to like you more than he liked everyone else. When you were little you wanted to be as strong as he was. When you grew up you wanted to be as attractive as he was. Maybe his looks were catching.

Senpai didn't seem to mind much. I cooked for him because that took my mind off things. He was always gone for most of the day—job or family business, I don't know. I never asked. Our relationship was a very quiet one. We didn't talk to each other much. It was something you read about in books or watched in movies.

More than once I wanted to gather up the courage and sit next to him while he was watching the TV and ask him, "Where were you born? Where are your parents? Where do you get all that money to afford an apartment in high school?" Those questions were rather rude, I know, but it was a burning curiosity. And while I did wonder a lot about them, I think I valued my life more than Hibari-san's answers to my questions.

Hibari-san is unpredictable in battle but so painfully ordinary in real life. I've seen him break more dishes than the years I've been alive in two weeks alone. He's always a bit absentminded when closing the window blinds. He traces the space in between the buttons on the remote control.

I don't think I've gotten him mad while staying at his house before. It's because I still have common courtesy and manners! I haven't gone wild! Not yet, anyways.

… I'm kidding. I'm just kidding.

It happened when I was in the kitchen. I've said this already, earlier, but the kitchen really is a home to me. No matter how small, how big, how clean, how dirty, I love a kitchen to death. Isn't that a strange thing to say, though? It's my most favorite place in the world. Some people have "safe places"—rooms that they can stay in and think and be happy. It occurred to me that my safe place was Hibari-san's kitchen. Just like his door, it was a good kitchen. All it needed was to be a little bit more lived-in. It felt distant and cold. I think that it was then I vowed that if I got nothing else done during that summer, I would reinvent Hibari-san's kitchen. I didn't bring my dad's old pots and pans; instead, I had left them somewhere in Tsuna's house.

It was fueled by a little bit of boredom but mostly… I don't know how to explain it. It had a green color to it, a light spring-ish color that was rather lukewarm. The morning was a bright canary yellow that changed into a light blue later. I was in a cheerful mood. Hibird was chirping in its cage, looking out the window. It was Saturday; senpai was on the cream-colored couch that I had claimed as temporarily mine, watching something that sounded interesting. He had moved over the light summer blanket and the pinstripe blue pillow I had brought from my old house.

"I'm going to be out for a moment," I told him and he had shrugged nonchalantly. "Do what you want," he said passively to me, and with that I was out the door.

I hadn't been out for so long! The sun was hot on my head—truthfully, it was hot on everyone's head unless you had light hair. I still had a bit of pocket money left over so I felt less guilty about everything. The mall wasn't very full but had many people nonetheless; however, I didn't see anyone I knew when I reached the grocery and home appliance store. I ended up buying so many things that I spent all of my extra money.

I left the apartment at 11:20am and by the time I got back it was already around 2:30pm—this was because Hibari-san had only the minimal amount of recommended and required kitchenware. But the new things I've bought didn't make the kitchen any more comfortable (actually, if you think about it, I just made it worse) but I planned a big dinner tonight. I wanted to make so much that there would be four days filled with leftovers. It was kind of a strange feeling. Leftovers were memories of your blood, sweat, and tears you poured out to make a meal, but they just end up getting harder and harder to eat if you let them carry over to the next day so much. The feeling was a dim yellow that I wanted more of but hated at the same time.

Hibari-san came into my battleground around 6:00pm. He watched me silently as I diced the onions with ease and stirred the cooking meat every once in a while.

"Could you hand me three eggs?" I asked, setting aside my knife and pushing off the goggles I was wearing to keep from tearing over the onions. He set his lips into a thin line and pulled open the refrigerator door, setting three eggs on the table. "Thanks," I said, and he said nothing but pulled out a bottle of peach juice for himself.

"… Dinner's gonna be kind of big tonight," I said. A shy tone snuck in while I wasn't paying attention. He stared at me evenly. I cracked the eggs over a glass bowl and whipped quickly with my chopsticks.

"What are you making?" he asked quietly. It was a little bit hard to hear over the sizzle of the eggs but I caught his words anyway. They're kind of hard to miss. But, no doubt he saw the cans of tomato paste sitting neatly in stacks on the counter near the sink. "Italian?"

"Mm," I murmured. "It's spaghetti but it's not really… Italian-style spaghetti? I think that's how you would describe it. I used Chinese noodles, haha. The thick, droopy kind. I think Italian noodles are too hard. Actually," I continued, not caring if he wanted to hear me speak or not, "I don't like Italian food that much. I like their truffles though."

Just as I predicted, he didn't respond. Hibari-san, from what I saw in the corner of my eye, snapped open the cap of the peach juice bottle and took a tiny sip.

"After you're done," he said after I poured the eggs into the pan with the meat, "remember to wash the dishes."

It hits you in odd places. The grief, the anguish, the heartache, its God-knows-many tons of hurt, suddenly rushed over me. I let out of small huff of air through my nose.

I couldn't see, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't feel; all I could do was maybe stop from bending over and burning my hands. There were no tears; I couldn't find them, I couldn't force them out of me. I heard Hibari-san's peach juice clank on the kitchen counter. He did nothing, but I think he could tell that all the air was being squeezed out of me. The atmosphere suddenly turned almost gentle in a cold way. Grief doesn't have to hurt but it did for me. And when I finally had the power to inhale and exhale and open my eyes to make sure our dinner wasn't burnt, Hibari-san was already in the living room. He had left his bottle on the table.

Dinner was less spectacular than I had imagined it to be. We didn't say anything. Hibari-san picked up a chopstick-fill of noodles and started to chew. I assumed that it turned out okay because he didn't spit them out or refuse to eat another bite, or maybe he was hungry and had to eat it or else he'll starve, or maybe this was his way of saying sorry.

It… was an awkward affair, to say the least. When he finished he daintily placed his chopsticks together on top of the bowl and waited for me to finish.

Halfway through he said, breaking the silence, "You want to cry, don't you."

Needless to say, I was surprised. How could, really, anybody respond to that kind of question? It's like asking a person that you don't know if they were happy. Put yourself in their shoes. How could you say "No, I'm sick and tired of everything"? How could you not smile and lie through your teeth: "Yes, thank you for asking, I'm very happy with what I do." Senpai stared straight at me but I had to look away. Suddenly the floor was the most interesting thing in the room.

I could imagine what Hibari-san would say if I told him that I wanted to put down my food and start to cry. He would say… "Only herbivores cry," or something like that. "I hate people who cry. I just want to—" hm, what was it? "—bite them to death."

So, naturally, I had said, "No, I don't. Why would I want to cry?" And I had smiled one of my best smiles, just in case.

He threw his chopsticks at me. When I ducked them and they flew into the wall, falling, he threw the expensive porcelain bowl that I had just bought this afternoon onto the ground without any hint of regret or remorse or guilt on his face, shattering it into sharp tiny pieces. I winced at the loud sound; maybe even the neighbors would hear that. He continued to stare at me. What felt like minutes had passed before he abruptly stood up from his seat, kicked the pieces of broken porcelain away from his feet with his slippers. As he stood in front of his bedroom door he said to me, "Yamamoto Takeshi, if you ever lie to me again then I will kill you."

I said, "Hibari, I love you."

The door slammed shut.

_[click]_

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It didn't happen that way. Of course it didn't happen that way. I made that up.

… He was sitting on his bed in his rood with the blinds drawn, his back to me. I held the plate of spaghetti that I made for him in my hands. The night was impossibly hot but senpai didn't even feel it; he even had the heater on. I had the thought: Hibari-san can withstand anything. He's amazing. Even looking at him lately sparks up a tinge of jealousy.

We both spoke at the same time. I said "Um" to let him know that I was standing over there, in the doorway (which I think that he already knew but it's common courtesy) and he said, "Aren't you going to come in?" I felt my face heat up. I was a little embarrassed, but I stood near him anyway. Should I hand him the spaghetti? Did he even like spaghetti? Was he too busy to eat dinner tonight? Should I stay and talk for a while? All these questions filled my empty head. My hands shook a bit.

Hibari-san didn't do or say anything. He stared at the grey-blue walls in front of him, not even giving me a hint that he knew I was there. I looked with him. I wanted to think that maybe Hibari-san could keep me from thinking of anything. I wanted to see what he saw.

"Does it hurt?" he asked a little absentmindedly. I was caught by surprise; the quiver in my arms grew.

"… What hurts?" I managed to say. Tearing his gaze from the wall, he looked up placidly into my eyes. I still remember his eyes. I salvaged that moment. Senpai's pretty grey eyes still come back to me sometimes at the strangest of moments. I would cut carrots in the kitchen sometimes and I would close my eyes from exhaustion and there they were.

"Don't lie to me," he said quietly.

I dropped the plate of spaghetti. The sauce and the noodles and the broken pieces of the plate splattered all over the ground. What could I do about it? Hibari-san sat unmoving on the bed. "I'm sorry," I said hurriedly, "I'll go clean it up now," but Hibari-san touched me very lightly on the hand and I immediately froze. He told me to sit and all of my sorrows unfurled onto the blankets. I couldn't breathe, I didn't think, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders out of reflex.

We were like that, intertwined like that for a while. He breathed into my hair. He said, "You can cry, if you want. I don't mind."

My face felt like a car window on a rainy day. The tears gathered. As they huddled, they fell down together, dampening his shirt. He said nothing but I could tell that he was understanding. Why do people have to be like this? I've been transparent all my life. Everything about me—personality, hobbies, loves, dislikes—was made open. I could hide nothing. People who sing about unfaithful girlfriends or boyfriends are actually so painfully shy. People who look like they're smart are actually good at video games and nothing else. People who look so high up in the social ladder but actually are so kind to everyone and everything they meet. People who look like they're still really young actually have a really raspy voice. People who look beautiful actually are terrible people.

Hibari's gentleness, his tenderness frightened me. The fingers in my hair tried to coax me out of the depression I had holed up for myself, tried to convince me to stop crying. I had a strange thought… "Maybe he loves me."

I softly pressed my lips onto his. His hands stiffened on the back my head. I keep on telling myself to cut my hair but then I always keep on forgetting about it. He didn't move nor did he kiss me back; instead, he closed his eyes and slowly began to relax. I lifted my face away from him then, stared at his face. What did I see in Hibari-san? A safe place. A good place. Hibari-san was like a wall that you couldn't bring down. You just can't. You can use a gun or a drill or a sledgehammer but by the end of it, you begin to tire but he's still standing. I wanted… what did I want? I wanted to be like that. I wanted to be admired. It's just that… oh God, this is so stupid, I can't do this anymore—

_[click]_

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_[click]_

I made that up, too. The truth is that I don't remember what happened. I ran out of excuses already.

Okay… okay. I'll move on.

But… moving on doesn't exactly mean moving forward.

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It's been a long time, hasn't it? I've been sleeping well lately. I've been trying to change my bad eating habits. I dropped out. I'm thinking of maybe reopening my dad's sushi place but… I'm not sure if that idea's a good one. I don't think I've got the skill to do that. Word-of-mouth works, but it takes a long time to build a reputation! And, of course, there's always the "threatening" plan Reborn likes so much but I don't really think that it's going to work this time.

It's a little funny. I haven't seen Hibari-san in a while but he appeared in the middle of town when I was looking for groceries! He seemed a bit tired, but that was probably because of his recent trip to Italy. I had waved and called him over; he looked up serenely and gave the barest of nods. Kusakabe-san, who towered over him, waved back as well. We greeted each other when we met up. (Hibari-san did not speak, of course; he continued to look for suitable tomatoes—I was a bit surprised; during the summer of my stay at Hibari-san's apartment, he never cooked. On the rare occasion that I did not cook, he didn't eat.) Kusakabe-san left shortly after as he had a report to give.

I was left with Hibari-san, who had wandered off to the lettuce area. He had nimble, calloused fingers. I watched him, a little bit amused, to be honest, as he absentmindedly picked at the vegetables, checking the undersides, the crispness of the stalk, the quality and dryness of the leaves. When he was not satisfied with what he saw, he put them back, a flat motion with his wrist.

"You know?" I said, a little tentatively. I caught his attention; he looked up at me. "You know, you're being targeted."

A faint tug up appeared at the corner of his lips. "And you're not?" he asked. His attention was once again on the lettuce. I could tell that he was determined to find an appropriate piece. He rummaged through the stand. "Unlike you, I can handle myself." Here his eyes narrowed but he was looking at the lettuce, not me. "I was not given the Vongola Cloud Ring just because the baby felt like giving it to me. You have a ring of your own for a reason. Find it; use it." Here… Hibari-san looked almost sympathetic, if that could be a word to describe his face as he slowly turned around to look at me. It was a cross between irritation and sympathy; mostly irritation, of course. A strange kind of mix. "You should try your hand at protecting the people you are assigned to protect instead of just giving up and dawdling."

I laughed and I was a little surprised at the bitterness it contained. "You think I'm dawdling, Hibari-san?" All the sympathy drained from his face and it became 100 percent annoyed. "I wasn't! I was just thinking." He opened his mouth to retort but I cut him off quickly. "I know, I know. 'Thinking shouldn't take you that long,' am I right? But not all of us are like you, Hibari-san! Sometimes some people need more time to learn how to forgive." At that time I wanted nothing more to push senpai into the vegetable stand. "My father… he was killed, you know! I lost someone. It was because of me, too, right? But you, Hibari-san, you've never lost anyone. You just let them go."

To say he looked furious would be lying. Just like the sympathy, the irritation in his face fell away like a coat would. His face became blank like it always has, but his eyes were sharp and bore into my own.

"I let them go," he echoed. His nostrils flared and he set the plastic bag filled with ripe tomatoes in his hand down in the lettuce. "I let them go," he said again with venom in his voice.

"Yes," I snapped. It was strange to hear myself sound like that, so angry. I think that I was afraid of myself at that moment. I have never spoken against Hibari-san. Almost no one has ever spoken against Hibari-san. Like a dream. I was in a dream, and I was free to do whatever I wanted to do; I could say anything to Hibari-san. It was so different from our movie-scripted lives where there were rules that you had to follow. So I said, "Hibari-san, you don't have anyone important to you because you're so used to it. Letting people go, I mean. You've never let anyone get close to you, so you don't know what it's like! Having a real family, having loved ones; all these things are meaningless to you because you've never had anyone in the beginning."

Hibari-san said flatly, "I was trying to give you a hint."

I said, "My dad is not a proper ghost."

He began to walk away. "Maybe you're not looking in the right places."

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I love, they go away, it's painful.

I think that this is valid but I'm sure that I've said absolutely nothing about what I do or if I've even had a job, but that's a secret! Honestly, the ambiguity of everything I have recorded over this short period of time isn't very good. If you could figure out and piece together the fragments then you'll know exactly who we are. It's not hard. Let's begin with the basics. I was a student. I graduated. I went to university, I had a falling out, I work on-and-off, I live in a big house. It's a little strange, I've always expected myself to be something more… Just something more.

Gokudera has just stopped playing the piano, and I could only faintly hear him through the earphones I had lodged in my ears. It was the second movement of Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 25, Opus 79. He told me about it a long time ago. "The tempo is andante." He said these terms in Italian because thinking in Japanese would thrown him off. "Three-fourths time," he continued. "Two and a half minutes long. You're supposed to be gentle with it because it's supposed to foil the first movement." He said this all with a frightening clarity and a deadpan voice. I thought that he was lying to me because, truthfully, he didn't even look like a classical music genius to me!

"Andante," I said, repeating after him. He growled, "That's what I just said, baseball freak," and I said, "That's a nice word. Andante. Ahn-dahn-_taaay_. Mm, I just killed it didn't I!" Gokudera looked as if he was going to maim someone, but I just laughed and said, "Relax, relax! I'm just kidding. I know. A walking pace, right?"

I didn't care much for music anyway. I had tried, of course. When I was little my father paid for piano lessons and all of them had ended in tears. I didn't like to sit down and practice because why would someone do that if they could just go outside and play baseball instead? It didn't stick to me for very long. Not a long of things do.

It's a little funny, and a little bit unexpected. I'm imagining what Gokudera would be if he wasn't so caught up with our kind of business. Our jobs are miserable. We suffer, we burn out, we die for the sake of the family. We are filled to the brim with madness and pain. Some of us go crazy; others abandon the job but are caught and either sent to prison or killed by their own family. I think Gokudera would've been an amazing jazz pianist. He wouldn't go under Gokudera, of course. Something common but flashy-sounding like… Ueno Ryuusuke. Gokudera Hayato is a little bit of a mouthful if you want to say it fast. Too many twists of the tongue, your jaw hurts if you say it too much, the Western audience probably wouldn't appreciate it. Or maybe I'm imagining it. I'm tired of A's today. I don't really want to say any A's, but that's impossible, isn't it?

But the point isn't that I'm tired of strange things or that I don't appreciate his name, but his fingers would run up and down the board, stunning you with his brilliance and mastery of the keyboard! You would ask yourself bitterly, "Why didn't I continue with the piano? I'm so stupid!" but you would watch him intently anyway. There would be a ritardando and a complete stop abruptly at the end! He'd hold you in your seat. The string bass and the saxophones would quiet down and then the music would suddenly come back to you. The jazzy tunes would fill your ear… wouldn't that be wonderful?

And if you were a classically-trained musician (meaning that you went to music school for at least two years and could tell what key any song was played in; for short: you've got mad skills) you would scoff at modern music. Of course. I wouldn't blame you. You would say to the people in awe of Ueno Ryuusuke's music, "What, you only like it because it sounds like those pop songs on the radio."

The people would murmur an agreement. They would say, "Yeah, I guess you're right about this," and then you would smile triumphantly. You've foiled Ueno Ryuusuke for the time being. But Ueno Ryuusuke doesn't give up, even at the cost of his life! Ueno Ryuusuke's not afraid of the death of his musical career, because Ueno Ryuusuke would stand up suddenly. The legs of his chair would make an awful screeching sound on the stage and he would blow you away with an amazing jazz-infused classical piece. To you, the music critic, he would blow a raspberry and say, "How's this, old man?" The crescendos would send shivers up your spine. I would call him Bangin' Chord Hayato, but he's not Hayato anymore, he's Ryuusuke.

But then… you would remember your mission. You would say, indignantly, "What, you think we can't do amazing things?" ("we" means "classical musicians") and Ueno Ryuusuke would be shot down again. It would become a tug-o'-war of music.

That's not the point. The point is that I can see that Gokudera would be a jazz musician. I don't have to delve deep into his life. That's all.

The easiest things in life are usually the hardest to explain. Um… haha, that sounded really totally pretentious, didn't it? I didn't mean it that way. It's easy to say but hard to explain. See?

I've never really understood technology. When I was little I used to think that spirits ran the things you opened. Like the light bulbs in lamps; when you clicked open the lamp, I used to think that little fairies and Gods opened it for you. That clicking sound was their signal. It was like, "Open the lamp, please!" and then they would get your message because they had extremely sharp ears. Even if you couldn't hear it, they could. And then they'd flick open the lights.

_[short pause]_

I think… as people, we come to fall in love with everything. Of course, there's the occasional person or two that hate everything, that fill themselves with hate to pass onto the next person and it becomes an endless cycle. But those kinds of people, if you look at it their way, that was their kind of love. "I want to destroy mankind." It doesn't mean that they want to destroy butterflies or kittens or giraffes, it just means that they want to destroy mankind. People. Simple, right?

This sounds like the sort of thing Hibari-san would say, except his declaration of destruction would be something like, "I want to destroy everyone who breaks the rules." Or just a simple, "I'll bite you to death." I was a little in love with him, because Hibari-san is everything that I'm not. People like those kinds of people. I like to follow the trend. Or, maybe I don't, I'm a trendsetter, but it was the easiest thing to do. I would distract myself, that's what I thought. I would distract myself from all the death around me. I would latch onto Hibari-san's sleeve like a leech. I wanted to be… as emotionless as he was. He would hold a straight face at everything. Everything except maybe Mukuro.

He hates. His hate burns the same why his Flame burns; burning, burning, consuming everything in sight. That's just the way he is. Maybe I lied about the twenty percent. I would look into his head all day but only understand ten percent. I could change the whole perspective of my world and still not understand.

I wonder what Hibari-san would be if Reborn hadn't come into our lives. His co-leader, Kusakabe-san, he looks like he's part of the yakuza or a motorcycle club, but Hibari-san looked a bit different. If he was happy, if he smiled, if he were an everyday human being, he could fit any type of shell. A tofu delivery boy, the son of a famous lawyer, a violinist, an art student, the owner of a ramen stand, a bartender with a baby face, a singer, anything. But I don't think he could be a singer if he didn't talk.

He would still come home to an empty apartment, if you could call that home at all. He would shed his shell every night (or morning, it depends on what he does) and have an empty face.

Hibari-san is Hibari-san no matter where you put him, what you do with him. He has a terrifying resolve. He probably doesn't even need to do New Year's Resolutions because he's done them all. Every year, little by little, he adds one resolution to his list until he already has twenty of them. Maybe more, maybe less, I don't know, I'm making this up as I go along!

Sometimes… I wish Hibari-san was a kind person. The type of person that you were initially afraid of because you've heard rumors about this, about that, but as you grow to know him better, he really is the kindest person you've ever met. I'm a little glad that he's not. I'm so used to his personality, his quirks, the things he says and the way he says it that I would be a little bit scared of he suddenly decided to change himself. I talk a lot, I know, but if Hibari-san weren't Hibari-san than who could we latch onto? Reborn, maybe. Reborn is even crueler than Hibari-san if you think about it differently. If Tsuna were still training for the ring battle, Reborn would say, "Do this, do that, do it all in two hours," but Hibari-san would say, "Do whatever you want but don't lose." Tsuna would love this kind of person compared to Reborn.

A little glad, but empty.

What is this feeling? I don't really know how to properly explain it. The want to change somebody. The desire for something that doesn't even exist, not anymore. I want the warmth, I don't want my hands to be cold anymore. "People who live in the past," Hibari-san once told me, "shouldn't exist. Their minds decay. What good is a person if they don't have a mind?"

I think that I've decayed. I am in love with every little thing, every corner and wedge and circle and square. I am in love with orange coffeepots and aluminum foil and plastic wrap and faded straw mats. It sounds so strangely like my dad's sushi place, but it's gone now. I still have the pots and pans in the attic of the house somewhere. I've cast it away like a message in the bottle, floating in the sea of my consciousness. No one can reach it anyways.

Every night is hard. I ache, I want, I need. In my dreams I'm on a boat. I'm a sailor, charting the unexplored! I come paddling towards an unfamiliar island. The smell of the salt in the air, it reminds me of home. They always say that home is where the heart is but not me. I'm a pioneer, right? I do the unexpected of me. So I take my heart with me and plant little pieces of it everywhere I go. They point to home. My dad is not a proper ghost. One day I'll be on some island that no man or woman has ever set foot on before and there I'll find him outside his wooden cottage in a rocking chair, smiling. Outside, the bugs are loud and the tropical birds are chirping happily. There is your father, they'd sing. I would say, "Yeah, that's my dad." We would talk for hours until sleep closes our eyes.

The next day he would be gone, but I would already prepare my heart for that. I'll cry in my sleep, not in real life. And if I tilt my head out the little windows, I could see the circle of charred logs we arranged last night. If I looked long and hard enough, I could see the smoke coming up in wisps as if to say goodbye. They would curl in the empty room and give me the warmth that I had been searching for. They'd touch my face and I wouldn't know it but there would be tears coming down my face.

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I was trying to tell a story but I guess it didn't end up the way I wanted to be.

I like stories. Stories where the good guy gets the pretty girl? Haha, yeah, I like that kind of them. I'm so orthodox with relationships. And if this were my story to tell, it would be a happy one. The one where I'm the poor high school student that goes to the most prestigious school in all of Japan which is all kinds of expensive but I'm there on a sports scholarship. I would meet the most beautiful girl in school and she'd fall in love with me, even though she had a boyfriend. But her boyfriend, you see, is a jerk and hates me. But I win her over, you'll see. I'd be accepted to a popular baseball team. We'd kiss, at the end of the game and the story. That's how it works.

It's okay, but no one ever documents what happens after the kiss or the school dance or the date or whatever. No one bothers, because a) almost no one lasts that long and b) no one wants to see heartbreak and betrayal and the split. No one wants to hear or see the pain. Everyone wants a happily ever after.

Fairytales don't have happy endings. The little mermaid turned into ink and she was washed away into the sea. Karen never stopped dancing.

_[quietly]_ I understand now. If you listen very, very carefully to the background, you can hear the crashing of the waves. What would Hibari-san say about this? "You can't change the fact that it's an ocean," he would say. I can hear the words ringing in my ears. I can see him forming the words on his lips. "You can't change the ocean but you can try to change yourself. You would do the world a favor." If I told him about stories, he would say, "Don't say such dramatic words like 'betrayal.' Do you know what betrayal is? You don't, do you."

I wouldn't try to correct him because it's a little more than useless to try to. He doesn't listen to me. He does his own thing! He's like warm weather in the middle of winter. That wasn't such a good example, was it?

Understanding Hibari-san is a lot like trying to catch a cloud with a butterfly net. Clouds are made of gases. Butterfly nets are made of rope, not to mention the fact that butterfly nets are used for catching butterflies, not clouds. And it's a lot like trying not to bite the inside of your cheek if you've been injected with anesthetic. You try not to bite, you honestly don't, but you can't help it, that's just the kind of person you are. You're the kind of person that gently bites the inside when thinking. And even if you decide to brave it, you don't know if you're biting hard or lightly and you never know what condition the insides of your cheeks will turn out to be. Painful or kind? It's hard to tell.

There once was a princess who lived near the sea. One day, she decided that she would descend from the safety of her castle and play near the water. However, she underestimated the tide and was drowned. When she awoke, she had been reborn as a bird. That bird hated the ocean. She hated it so much that everyday she would take rocks and branches from the forest near the sea and throw it down into the water. She never stopped. Not once. Not even when she was tired, not even when she was delusional, not even when the sea never seemed to fill up with the pebbles and twigs, she never stopped.

I hate the ocean, too. It's not like I had been reborn from a drowned little girl, it's just because the sand really ruins your shoes! And when you go barefoot, there's always the chance that you'll cut your foot on a stray sharp rock.

But today's not such a good day to go to the beach. It's gloomy; the sun's hiding today. The sand is cold and wet and I'm shivering as I speak.

If I turn around I can see Hibari-san looking miserable in the small black car he drove. I had called him early this morning and asked him if he could spare me a ride. Strangely, he had agreed to without much argument or bloodshed but I had no time to be taken back, I had to salvage the moment. But right now I can't turn around, not until I repent. Besides, he'll stare me down, even though I'm a far way from him and the warmth of the car.

But, I tell myself, there's warmth on my hands right now, right this moment. In case if I kick the bucket sometime soon, I don't want my dad to be disappointed with me.

_[faint footsteps in the background]_

… Here. Here's a good place. I like this spot. Whenever the waves come in, they splash the fronts of my shoes. I'm going to have to find an excuse as to why there is sea salt encrusted at the tip but that can always be saved for the ride home. There's no rewind button now, I can't redo things that I want to redo and keep things the same at the same time. I never understood why we, as humans, as people, never found a way to go back into time. We can do so many things! We could've stopped so many wars, so much anguish and blood and tears. But we didn't; we continue to sin and cause them instead.

I'm not religious but I believe in a God that will listen to everything you say, no matter how obscure they are, now matter how short they are, no matter how ramblish they are. He'll lend an ear to you. You could say, "Oh, I failed my bio-chemistry test today!" and He'll just laugh and say, "Sweetheart, it's fine, you just gotta do better next time!" But… that's my interpretation of God, anyway. It's not the same for anyone.

I'm stalling right now, I know, but I like to pray before I eat. It's like a Post-It note to God: "Hey, thanks so much / —Y" and the Post-It note I would get back in my head would be like "No prob.; don't waste anything / —G." I don't know, I get these thoughts sometimes.

This is a good place.

I don't want to tell my own story but if I don't then who will?

There are so many things that I want to say but not nearly enough time.

I'll be like that bird.

Today I'm going to listen to Hibari-san's advice and hang out with Tsuna no matter how busy he is.

I'm not a smart person but I've got a heart.

I'm going to tell Gokudera that I want to learn piano again and I will make him teach me.

I've lost my words but I'll catch them.

When you see him, tell my daddy that I love him.

Thanks.

_[splash, static]_


End file.
